Vermont is always a good idea

On starting with what you have and seeing what's there

Hi all!

Back in October I wrote to you about a little book called Cooking As Though You Might Cook Again, lent to me by my friend and former coworker Megan. I’m always thinking about it, but I’ve been thinking about it even more recently as I have the time (and energy) to cook at home again. The book, written by Danny Licht, centers around the idea of starting with what you have, and crafting a nourishing meal from there. My favorite way to cook is to see what I have in the pantry and fridge (dried beans, pasta, a hunk of Parmesan, etc.), and use those ingredients as the foundation of a meal. It’s the responsible way to cook: for the environment, for your wallet, and for your own time and energy. Start where you are, see what is there, and fill in the blanks.  

I’m in Vermont right now with Teo, and my parents, Trevor, Laura, and Remy all joined us over the weekend. Prior to everyone’s departure yesterday, Teo and I pulled together lunch for the group. After scouring the pantry, fridge, and freezer, we came up with the following: rice pilaf with pancetta, peas, and mint, a big green salad, and cheddar toasties using slices of going-stale baguette. The satisfaction! 

I improved dramatically at this kind of cooking while at Hart’s thanks to family meal, a daily ritual in which the kitchen staff cooks a meal for the whole team to eat before service. Hart’s is a thrifty little restaurant that prides itself on making family meals with scraps to minimize waste. Tuna scrap becomes the base of poke bowls; pork scrap gets braised with chilies and stuffed into tortillas; leftover greens get wilted into hot pasta. Containers of what look like nothing turn into sustaining dinners. Sometimes there’s inspiration behind a family meal — recreating something you loved as a kid or trying out a technique you observed at another restaurant. And sometimes you’d rather do anything other than cook family meal. On those days, the result, however simple, is even more of an accomplishment. Not every family meal has to be the best meal you’ve ever eaten; you’re still getting food on the table and taking care of people. The same is true for any meal. I really believe it. 

Teo and I have been eating so well since we began our January of Quality Time (that’s what I’m calling this month leading up to Rome). We made stovetop burgers with aioli, caramelized onions, and lettuce on brioche buns, with a side of crispy oven fries that turned out so well that I can’t stop talking about them. We baked a big coffee cake for breakfast, which made the house smell like brown sugar and butter, and fried up some local breakfast sausage links. A morning fry-up reminds me of two things: my beloved Brits and this poem by Rita Dove, which I set to music back in high school. “How good to rise in sunlight, / in the prodigal smell of biscuits - / eggs and sausage on the grill. / The whole sky is yours // to write on, blown open / to a blank page.” The poem is warm and spacious, like a Vermont morning. 

On Saturday night, we had a *very* special dinner with Eric and Dina, two of our belovedest beloved friends. I made Marcella Hazan’s bolognese with fancy spaghetti from Formaggio, charred cabbage with anchovy vinaigrette à la Hart’s, and carrots, onion petals, and mushrooms roasted with thyme. Eric and Dina brought a green salad, Italian wine, an almond-y crumble cake, and a bottle of amaretto as a digestif. It was an exceptional meal, completely outshone by the company. It’s a special and rare thing to find friends who see you clearly as I feel that Eric and Dina see me, and I know I’m not alone in that sentiment when it comes to the two of them. As Teo said the following day, “I can’t get over Eric and Dina.” To that I say: me neither! 

It may sound like all we did was eat this week, but we actually did some other things, too. I’ve come to realize that I feel my best and most embodied while moving. Saturday was one of my better days in recent history, and I credit that in large part to movement. It was a whirlwind of walking, yoga, fetch with Remy, ping pong competitions, and futzing around the kitchen, stirring a pot. By allowing my body to move as it wishes, I’m embracing all that it’s capable of doing. At the risk of tying this letter into too neat a bow, moving your body is one way of starting with what you have and seeing what’s there.

As always, thank you for reading.

With love,

Phoebs